Ash and Dust
by AppleCiderr
Summary: Sherlock awakens to find himself in a war-torn world with no recollection of what happened. In order, he must learn to adapt after the loss of everything he once understood. In such a violent, horrifying world, he has to wonder if there is any hope that he may see those he cared for again, or if they are just another stain on the ground.


A gasp of air flew into his lungs, eyes snapping open just as his throat suddenly caught. The man released several coughs, desperately reaching for more air as he did. Finally, as the oxygen reached his brain, Sherlock Holmes began to operate again.

It was dark, very dark.. And silent. The consulting detective could feel something hard and rough against his back. Quickly, his hands grabbed below him and found the item he was laying on was stairs. _Stairs? But last I remember I was at home.._

He shook off his confusion, knowing that thinking about it wouldn't answer the question to where he was now. He moved to set up, and hesitated at the slight pain that went through him. _No wounds, just pain. Bruises. I fell?_

His blue eyes looked around, pale hands feeling for any understanding to where he could be. Suddenly, his hand nudged against something that slid away from his reach. He heard it fall down the stairs, echoing in the darkness. Wood?

Sherlock frowned, before his brain jerked him back with a plan. Quickly, he reached around in his pockets for his mobile. He turned it on, the small screen illuminating just a bit. In a quick moment, he saw everything on the front. _April 22nd, Noon, no service, and no messages._

The brunette ignored it all for now, instead he slid up the screen, and turned on his flashlight. Those stairs were very familiar once he could see them. They were stairs in the tube. This only made his plight more confusing, however.

 _Why would it be so dark on the stairs? Even if it is night, London is always lit up. The only way it could be so dark is if.._ He turned, shining his light towards the entrance. His blue eyes widened in terror, and he realized his thoughts were true.

The entire entrance was filled with broken wooden boards, metal beams, and other debris that Sherlock couldn't recognize. Instantly, he wracked his mind to try and understand what could have caused it, but there was nothing. He couldn't remember.. _Why? Why can't I remember?!_

Panic jolted through him, and he turned back down the stairs. "HELLO?!" He yelled, cupping his hand around his mouth. "Is anybody there?!" 

There was no answer, unless his own echo calling back counted. He frowned, running down the stairs to try and find any hints to what had happened. In his hurried state, he forgot about the metal plank that had fallen with him. His foot slid against it, sending him crashing against the ground and his phone slamming against the ground.

Sherlock groaned, his body throbbing with pain. He jerked his head up, seeing the light of his phone far away. He stood up, slowly sliding towards it. He could see a small sliver of the tube, and all he saw was debris and emptiness. There wasn't a sign of anyone.

"I.. I have to get out of here.." He croaked,"I have to- There has to be someone.." He shoved the phone back in his pocket, moving towards the blocked entrance. The genius quickly began feeling the debris, searching for any loose piece.

Finally, a small pipe shook under his hand. Quickly, Sherlock planted his feet against the ground, and began to tug hard. After several pulls, it flew out, causing Sherlock to barley catch himself. He quickly brought up an arm to cover his head, the debris falling down and sliding down the stairs.

The dust entered Sherlock's system once more, making him cough as he pushed himself up the stairs. There was light now, burning his eyes. He turned away, blinking several times to try and let his eyes adjust. Finally, when the black spots disappeared, he turned back around..

And fell to his knees.

London was completely destroyed.

The buildings were in rubble, or completely gone. Everything that was green looked burned, and all the cars were in ashes. _It was gone.. It was all gone._ "Oh my god.." He croaked, his head swimming with horror.

All he could do was stare for several moments, before his heart jolted. Where is everyone? Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, and- He gasped.

"John…" He whispered, scrambling to his feet. "JOHN!"

Surely if this happened he would have survived.. He had to! He has to be at home! Sherlock thought, fear overriding his logic. He turned, running as fast as he could down the crumbled street.

His brain took in as many details as possible, the heat, the destroyed buildings, the burn marks. _Bombs? Nuclear? Explosion?_ He head throbbed, his lungs burned. But he had to keep going.

There it was, he knew it was around that corner. Sherlock was in pain, and he turned around the corner, scrambling to a stop. His heart dropped, body growing cold with shock and sadness. He knew it was possible but.. He hadn't want to think his home was gone.

There was nothing but a pile of black rubble.

Adrenaline still flowing, he threw himself at the rubble. His hands buried themselves in the black debris, digging around in a desperate attempt to find something, _anything_. "John! JOHN!" He cried frantically, shoving aside another pile of destruction and stopped.

It was John's cane. His shaky, blackened hands pulled it up, staring at it in was dented, and covered in the dust, but he recognized it anywhere. "John.." He whispered again. For once, his brain couldn't come up with any ideas. He didn't know what to do next, or where to go. He didn't want to face the fact that his friend could be..

Sherlock whimpered fearfully, falling down into the rubble below. Even though he had just awakened, he felt so stressed and exhausted. The black dust could not remain on his cheeks, thanks to the tears falling down cheeks.

"You can't be dead.." He shakily whispered,"You believed in me.. I'll do the same."

Despite that promise, Sherlock found that he couldn't get up. He was exhausted, his limbs wouldn't work. All he could do was stare at the cane in front of him, and allow his mind to drift off again. But not before he made one last declaration.

 _I'll find you, John... I promise_


End file.
